


Dirty Hands

by leomundstinyhut



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Hanzo is Exhausted, M/M, McCree is a Funky Little Desert Spirit, Monster!AU, Strange Oddities 2018, jersey devil, smut in the second chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 19:11:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17452733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leomundstinyhut/pseuds/leomundstinyhut
Summary: “Which way,” he murmurs to himself, struggling to remember a diverging path when he’d studied his GPS for his escape route.“You lost, stranger?”Hanzo nearly leaps out of his skin when a voice like a thunderstorm comes across the air to him. He snaps his head around, eyes wide, and then lets out a noise of alarm at the sight that greets him.It is no man.Across from him, standing at what must be seven feet tall, is something... other.-----Jersey Devil!McCree / Hanzo Shimada. Written for the Strange Oddities Zine (2018)!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! In this mild dry spell of my writing, I've been given permission to post my contribution to the Strange Oddities zine I participated in!
> 
> To be honest with you, I don't usually post the work I put in zines purely bc I'm nervous about how short some of the works are (if you know me at all you know I'm WORDY AS FUCK so I often struggle with the word limits I'm given) and I feel like I could've done better, but I'm pretty happy with this piece and I figured it was worth showing off!
> 
> This piece takes place right before Hanzo decides to join Overwatch. Does McCree also exist in Overwatch in this world. Who knows.
> 
> I'll be linking all the art that accompanied this fic here and in the fic itself, so please PLEASE go check it out. The art I got for this fic was... so fucking good I lost it.
> 
> Here's [Grovey's piece](https://twitter.com/7GROVEYS/status/1085893540457005058) that I've been dying over since I saw it. ILY GROVEY

It is 4:37 AM when Hanzo Shimada’s car breaks down on the side of the road.

He has been driving for so long—27 hours last he checked—the blacktop has turned to watercolors behind his glassy eyes. Yellow, white, black, again, again, again, like a mosaic made of cropped corner pieces. Were he not the person he was, vigilant even when drop-dead tired, he might have been asleep behind the wheel when the car suddenly gives a great jerk and sputter; might’ve swerved off the road in surprise.

As it was, Hanzo blinks down at the vehicle’s check-engine light with exhausted clarity. He pulls the car to the side of the road with the kind of resignation that only comes with being disappointed so often that it’s just a subset of his constant mood.

“Fuck you,” he tells the car.

The car gives one last splutter before shutting off completely. Hanzo takes the moment to press his forehead to the steering wheel between his hands.

After one short, bone-deep yell, Hanzo jerks open the car door and steps outside.

He is immediately greeted with a slap of cool, dry air. It isn’t hot yet; a blessing.

Hanzo leans against his car, glaring down at the steel-gray, completely unremarkable truck. It still uses tires, which is necessary when traveling out in the middle of nowhere like he is, and Hanzo sullenly supposes he’s glad that at least it hadn’t been hovering when the battery died.

“Fuck,” he says again, quieter. He turns toward the east, squinting at the horizon.

The sun has not come up yet. It will be a few hours, if he’s lucky.

Hanzo opens the car one more time and reaches in to grab his bow and what’s left of his water bottle. With a sigh, he begins walking in the direction he’d been driving.

It feels like hours pass by. Hanzo is not out of shape by any means, but sweat begins pooling in the small of his back far too quickly for his liking and he sighs to himself, walking down the road. His metal feet click dully on the pavement.

He should not have taken this job. He’d known that from the beginning. _One more,_ he’d told himself, before he went and met Genji at the Watchpoint to join his band of merry heroes. The same thing he had told himself the job before this one, and the one before that. _One more, and then I will go._

Cowardly. He was always so _cowardly._

The heat starts to manifest as the stars begin disappearing from the sky. Hanzo looks up as he plods and watches the sky turn from the black of night to the dark blue of approaching morning. He wishes he had his phone, but the thing is a useless weight in his pocket, having died sometime during his driving. Careless. Time passes so strangely here, he is not even certain how long it’s been.

He looks back and can no longer see his truck. He looks ahead, and there is nothing but more road.

The sun refuses to rise. Hanzo watches the horizon, waiting for it to crest, but it never does. It’s almost unnerving, seeing the evidence that the day is going to break, only to watch and wait and never see it come. _Now,_ Hanzo begins to play in his mind, _or now._

No. The stars stop disappearing. The sun stops rising.

It’s as if the world has stopped turning, like everything on the planet has dragged itself to a halt except for Hanzo, walking down the road, down, down, down. He isn’t sure if he’s seeing things, hallucinating—surely the earth has not stopped spinning. Time is just passing slower than he realizes.

Right?

He walks. He walks. He walks until suddenly he takes a step, and his feet brush the edge of desert sand. Hanzo looks up from his head-down movement to see that there is now a fork in the road. The stop sign that should be there is not. Hanzo blinks, and sways where he stands, suddenly halted in his progress.

Despair threatens to claw at him. He suddenly realizes he is parched—his water bottle is empty. When did he drink from it? _Why is there a fork here?_ Route 66 was supposed to be a straight shot through the states… this makes no sense. There is no exit sign, not even the remnant of one. It’s as if he’s stepped into the edge of another plane. Exhaustion is a force on his mind, ever-present, coloring everything he sees.

_Which way…which way?_

“Which way,” he murmurs to himself, struggling to remember a diverging path when he’d studied his GPS for his escape route.

“You lost, stranger?”

Hanzo nearly leaps out of his skin when a voice like a thunderstorm comes across the air to him. He snaps his head around, eyes wide, and then lets out a noise of alarm at the sight that greets him.

It is no man.

Across from him, standing at what must be seven feet tall, is something _other._

The most prominent thing is the skull.

Antlers, huge and splaying, crack from the top of the skull like lightning bolts reaching for the sky. Ragged scraps of fur hang from the antlers themselves. There’s no way to tell which bones are attached and which aren’t. The only thing to focus on is the way that there are distinct holes in the skull that allow another, smaller pair of horns to protrude from beneath the mask.

Of course it’s a mask. _It must be._

Hanzo’s eyes travel down the rest of the creature, catching on various things in a frantic attempt to name the being something—anything recognizable. It stands like a man, upright, and wears ragged clothing to preserve its modesty, but Hanzo stares as he realizes that those are definitely _hooves,_ attached to deer-like legs, a _tail—_

The monster makes a long, low sound like an exhale, and blue smoke comes curling out of its skeletal nostrils and out from under the upper jaw. “Human.” It sounds like a tree ripping from the ground; Hanzo feels faintly like the tree. “But not _only_ human, are you? How…interesting.” He tips his head—Hanzo hears something like wood chimes in the breeze. “What a specimen.”

“I’m…losing my mind,” Hanzo breathes, rubbing his hands over his face like he’s trying to clear his vision. “What is happening to me?”

“Think you ended up somewhere you shouldn’t be,” the creature rumbles, and takes a step forward, tipping his head down and moving with surprising speed. Hanzo blinks and the devil is there, grabbing him with a hand that Hanzo realizes is _glowing,_ violent and spirit-blue, clawed fingers finding their way around his throat in a grip that is _frightening_ and yet not so tight that he cannot breathe. Hanzo snatches at the unyielding grip as the creature bends, leaning closer, ghostly eyes burning into him.

“Are you lost?” The thing’s voice is soft now, deadly soft, like a rattlesnake.

The world around the devil is going darker, vaguely reminiscent of storm clouds rolling in. Hanzo fights against the hand, fear rising in him. The clawed digits dig in slightly more, and, frantic, Hanzo opens his mouth. “Y-yes. _Yes.”_

Those eyes are hypnotic. Hanzo cannot look away from the almost static-blue eyes as they suddenly flicker to red. It’s like looking into a furnace, twin lights the color of blood. “Do you know where you’re goin’?”

The words feel weighty. Hanzo inexplicably knows the creature is not just speaking about which way the nearest city is. _How_ is not important; Hanzo knows, and the being knows, and Hanzo may be having a nightmare but again the truth springs forth. “No. I…know which way…I _should_ go…I…”

The red eyes flicker, but do not move. “What do you want?”

Again, out comes the truth. “Redemption.” Something he only admitted to himself in the dark places in his mind. He thinks maybe this creature will be appearing there alongside those thoughts, anyway.

There is brief silence, before the devil picks Hanzo up by the throat. Hanzo, lulled into a trance, does not even kick, doesn’t fight, even as his air supply slowly begins to be siphoned away. He cannot look away from the eyes. He feels like his skin is being peeled away, his muscles and bones, leaving only the raw part that remains. This is what the creature inspects, before his breath ghosts over Hanzo’s cheek, across his throat. “Will you pursue it?”

Hanzo swallows tightly around the hand, adrenaline forcing him to stay awake even as his fuzzy vision fights against him. “Yes,” he whispers, thinking of Genji, thinking of the promise of hope.

The red eyes whirl back into blue. The monster puts him down and turns away, not even looking back as Hanzo collapses to his knees and rocks backward, gasping for air.

“Then the judgement’s passed,” the devil says, looking out to where the sun should be rising. A pause, and he looks over his shoulder, his hair blowing in a sudden breeze, tail a whip-sharp shadow across the ground. “See that you walk that path, Shimada. You don’t want ol’ McCree to find you again. I don’t judge kindly on repeat cases.”

His eyes flutter briefly between blue and red, and then he lifts his glowing hand, moving closer once more. Hanzo doesn’t have the energy to flinch from him, but doesn’t need to; ‘McCree’ puts the hand on Hanzo’s forehead, broad and sharp. When he speaks, there’s a rumble in his voice. “Go home.”

Hanzo snaps awake in his car.

He looks down at the steering wheel clenched in his hands and notices the check engine light is off.

He presses the ignition button. The car kicks into gear, like nothing, like Hanzo had just pulled to the side of the road for no reason.

 _Surely not._ Hanzo places a hand up around his own throat, swallows. _Surely not._

Five miles down the road, his exit comes up. Hanzo silently turns onto it, and, checking his now-functional GPS, makes a detour to the closest airport.

In the rearview mirror, he catches the faintest hint of claw marks on his neck.

He drives faster, feeling eyes on the back of his head until he crosses the New Mexico border.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [sweating] I'm usually a lot more about the build-up to smut than this, but you do what you gotta do with a word limit.
> 
> Go fuck the weird man-monster you found in the desert, Hanzo. Live your dreams.

Hanzo shouldn’t be here.

He tells himself that the idea is ridiculous, that he is being an idiot. What does he hope will happen?

A wash of shame burns up his face at that thought, but he shakes his head. _I must know if what I saw was a hallucination,_ he tells himself.

He drives out to the same spot in the desert, and parks. Hanzo clenches his hands around the steering wheel. Then he leaves the car and begins walking.

He’s not exhausted today; he had made certain he was well-rested before driving out here. There is no excuse this time when he begins to lose track of reality, thinks he feels the universe grind to a halt around him. His heartbeat picks up as he walks, but he determinedly keeps his eyes on his feet, trying his hardest to retrace the steps that had brought him to McCree the first time.

The sun has not quite risen. The moon is inches from dipping below the horizon.

Hanzo takes one more step and his feet brush sand.

His head snaps up immediately. The fork. McCree’s road.

His eyes meet with the creature’s as he appears like a breath before Hanzo, swept into existence, like a dirt devil.

There is a moment of tension in the air as the two of them recognize each other, as Hanzo realizes he was not hallucinating that night. The monster is real, and — and laughing at him.

The skull tips to the side; the glow of bright blue from beneath the bone is stark in the in-between light. “You need to invest in a map,” he purrs, and steps closer, his hooves kicking up dust in the air, “since you keep gettin’ so lost, dragon.”

Hanzo swallows, his indignation fighting with his curiosity. McCree’s tail gives a leisurely twirl in the air.

“Unless you ain’t lost,” he continues, lower. Hanzo can somehow hear the smirk in his voice.

Embarrassed at how quickly his true intentions have become obvious, Hanzo clenches his fists, tipping his head back. “I wanted to know if what I saw was real,” he responds.

The devil rumbles, moves closer, closer. Hanzo had forgotten just how large he is, but it’s stark, now, as he covers Hanzo in shadow long before he’s right up on him. “Disappointed?”

Hanzo grits his teeth. “You are…not just my imagination, then,” he dodges, but holds his ground as McCree comes closer, close enough to touch. Too close. Perhaps that says more about his thoughts than he realizes.

The devil huffs out a noise like a horse, and slowly, slowly, the devil’s flesh hand comes and grabs Hanzo by the waist.

Hanzo can feel the pinpricks of claws through his clothing. The thrill that runs through him makes him close his eyes with embarrassment.

“Not unless you’ve been imaginin’ me,” the devil replies, voice curling with suggestiveness as easily as the wind curls his smoke. Hanzo swallows, flicks his eyes open again to look the creature in the face.

This close, he can suddenly see the hint of brown skin surrounding those mismatched eyes. Something is definitely beneath the mask, and whatever it is, it is smiling.

“Have you?”

Hanzo licks his own teeth, forcing himself to speak around his pride. “What if I was?” he hisses. Heat is roaring through him with how close the monster is. He should be ashamed of himself but, in this moment, all he can feel is the hot flush of arousal that’s been haunting his dreams late at night. The voice, the otherness of the devil, the power in his body… 

The monster laughs like thunder in the distance. “You should know I can see a man’s intentions by now, dragon,” he whispers, and now his other hand comes close, slides around to drag its way down Hanzo’s spine. Hanzo can’t help the shiver that rushes over him, the way his jaw goes loose, even as he makes no noise. “I felt you comin’. In more ways than one,” he adds, all amusement, all enjoyment. Hanzo feels heat in his face and swallows, turning away.

After a moment, the devil’s flesh hand reaches up and he uses a finger to pull Hanzo’s face back to meet eyes with him. Hanzo goes reluctantly, then pauses, startled to see a fire burning slow in that gaze.

“Can’t say I didn’t hope your path found its way back to me,” McCree murmurs, and after another brief second of hesitation, his spectral hand tugs Hanzo closer, up against his body. The responding low, pleased growl is more than enough to send Hanzo’s senses tingling.

“I find myself…drawn to you,” Hanzo admits. He smooths his hands back down; the monster’s chest expands with an inhale as Hanzo flicks a glance up. “You helped me find my path. I…would like to show my gratitude.”

The devil’s laugh returns, but it’s more strained now, and his wide, sharp hands slowly slide down to hover tantalizingly at the small of Hanzo’s back. The tips of his claws nip at the crest of Hanzo’s ass. Arousal is thrumming through him like a second heartbeat now, making his next words a little breathier than is perhaps warranted. “Remove your mask.”

A hesitance, a tick-tock of seconds, and then one hand leaves its teasing spot to reach up and slide the deer skull backward off of his face. Hanzo looks up expectantly, searching for the answer to his wet dreams.

The face is…a strange mix of handsome and _other._ White markings speckle the devil’s brown skin, curl around his mouth. His hair is long, gray-and-brown, messy and tangled, woven with leaves and braided into long ropes here and there. Soft, doe-like ears are tucked close to the sides of his head, and short, two-pronged horns emerge from the top of his head. And the eyes…

The eyes are startling: red sclera and bright, unnaturally blue irises. Reflective, like a cat’s. In the devil’s mostly humanoid face, the stark, animal-like contrast is enough to briefly catch Hanzo’s breath.

He is clearly not human, but the face is not so strange as to be off-putting. Hanzo is relieved, exhaling softly as he reaches up and takes the face in his hands.

He finds himself speechless, and the devil huffs, blue smoke curling from between his lips. Hanzo sees the hint of sharp canines and feels another pulse of heat unspool low in his stomach.

“You said somethin’ about thankin’ me?” the devil says, and Hanzo nearly jumps as a soft brush skitters up along the inside of his thighs. Blinking, he realizes it’s McCree’s tail, twisting and flicking up until it presses itself in the delicate spot between Hanzo’s legs, sweet and sending sparks skittering up his nerves. His head drops without him meaning for it to, and he makes a noise not unlike a growl, his hands sliding back down the devil’s body and sliding around to wrap his hand around the base of his tail.

The devil freezes, and Hanzo presses closer, tugging a little and grinning to himself as McCree’s tail snaps between Hanzo’s legs once more—now, though, more of a reflex.

“I will,” he replies, and slides his fingers lower, slipping past the bare minimum amount of modesty McCree has around his waist to grab a handful of the creature’s ass. A startled noise from the devil has Hanzo looking up, meeting eyes with him and trying to read the expression on his face, now that he can see it.

McCree blinks down at him, and the pupils in his monstrous gaze are dark, blown wide. “I…most people don’t…uh…”

Hanzo huffs, and reaches up to pull McCree down, angling his face to nip at the side of the creature’s throat. “I am not most people.”

“Hell,” the devil replies, and reaches down to begin pulling Hanzo’s clothing off with little care. Hanzo hears more than one rip in the fabric, but can’t bring himself to mind, tugging McCree down further to nip at one of his soft, delicate ears. His teeth meet the skin, and Hanzo hears a much more distinct _rip_ before McCree is pushing Hanzo back and hastily taking the remainder of his clothes off, looking hot in the face. “You’re…strange in a different kinda way,” he breathes, sounding anything but disapproving.

Hanzo smirks, shimmying out of his underwear and reaching out to divest McCree of the serape that serves as his clothes. “Two strange oddities, then,” he murmurs, more focused on seeing what he has to work with.

McCree’s dick is thick, more girth than length. Softly furred, like the rest of him, that dark tan stricken through with a pale cream stripe, tracing up to a dark brown head. Hanzo hums softly to himself and flicks his eyes up, watching as the devil looks back at Hanzo’s own nudity. When they meet eyes again, it feels as though lightning sparks in the air between them.

“You sure?” McCree asks, low, throaty, and if Hanzo had been on the fence at all, the lust in the monster’s voice would have wiped away any doubts.

“Certain,” he says, and reaches up to yank the creature down, pressing their mouths together just to feel the impression of those teeth against his lips.

The devil doesn’t let him down, growling so low Hanzo feels it in his chest as he hastily guides them down onto the clothing Hanzo had discarded. It provides little in the way of a barrier, but if Hanzo was the type of man to be put off by a bit of dirt, he wouldn’t be here. He puts the devil’s back on the ground with a grunt, yanking him up to continue kissing him for a brief moment before the other pulls away.

“Don’t need no prep,” McCree breathes, and Hanzo watches his thighs spread underneath him. He swallows as his mouth goes dry, staring down at the heavy cock on McCree’s stomach, the way he stretches out underneath him like some kind of ethereal thing. Heat comes off him in waves, inviting, beckoning. “Benefits to bein’ what I am.”

“Excellent,” Hanzo breathes, a hint of humor glowing in his expression, “because I definitely forgot preparation.”

McCree’s eyes gleam blue. “I know, sugar.” He grins.

With another soft laugh, Hanzo presses himself closer between McCree’s legs, staring down at the creature laid out before him. He presses his hands up McCree’s body again, his humanoid torso, squeezing the firm muscle in his pectorals and dragging his nails back down to his stomach. The devil groans low and short, and after another moment Hanzo feels his tail return up between Hanzo’s legs, too firm to tickle but just enough to have him dropping his head and groaning in response. It’s insistent, tracing from the seam of his balls up along the perineum, so unlike what Hanzo has felt there before and it has him rocking his hips forward. The motion sends another growl up from McCree, and the tail slides itself up along Hanzo’s dick before swatting lightly against his ass. 

“Get goin’ already,” McCree grumbles.

The tail…will have to be experimented with. But for now, Hanzo gets his hands on the backs of McCree’s thighs and presses them up.

His legs aren’t like human legs, bent back more like a deer’s legs, but McCree tucks his hooves up neatly anyway, leaning up on his elbows to watch.

Hanzo doesn’t keep him waiting any longer.

He is still hesitant to dive right in, instinct keeping him from completely believing that McCree needs no prep, but when the head of his dick begins pushing in, Hanzo is startled to find that there’s no more resistance than there is from anyone he’d prepped with three fingers. McCree grins up at him, flicking one ear and lashing his tail, and then his hooves are pressing back into Hanzo’s ass, egging him on, pulling him tighter. “Told’ya,” he says, voice strained. “Now just fuck me, dragon.”

Hanzo needs no more encouragement. He sinks all the way in, smooth, slow, because he’s already hard enough that he’s going to need a minute to make sure he doesn’t get off right away. McCree’s body is tight and hot, clenching around him and pulling him in insistently. Hanzo’s head drops hard as the devil squeezes around him, gasping around clenched teeth. 

“Shit,” he hisses, slowly bringing himself to bottom out and pressing his hips tight to McCree’s. His body is soft with the fine fur, firm with muscle. After giving himself another moment, the archer forces himself to begin moving in earnest, egged on by McCree’s panted encouragements.

McCree is moving under him, his legs twisting as he twines his thighs close around Hanzo’s waist, lifts his arms over his head and grabs at the clothing he’s lying on. “Mmh, harder,” he hums, head back and eyes half-lidded watching Hanzo’s face. Hanzo obliges, eyes locked on McCree’s face as he works himself deeper inside. His hair begins to fall from his tight ponytail, dangling in his face. In a strange show of tenderness, McCree reaches up and pushes it out of his way, keeping his glowing hand pressed to the side of Hanzo’s face.

Hanzo turns his head and bites at the spectral wrist, hot tongue slipping out to lave over afterward. There’s no mark, the hand strangely noncorporeal and physical at the same time, but McCree’s pupils are blown as he watches anyway. _“Fuck,”_ he groans, and Hanzo growls and snaps his hips more ferociously.

The sight of the monster arching up under him is intoxicating. He’s just a man, but he is bringing this otherworldly being off with just his cock and his hands and his mouth. There’s power in that, and Hanzo bends lower, ignoring the ache in his knees as he starts biting and kissing at the devil’s chest. McCree makes soft, pleased noises in response, arching and twisting as Hanzo lavishes attention on him. By the time Hanzo grabs his dick, he’s a purring, undulating feline of a creature, tail fluttering in the air with little trembles every time Hanzo pushes into him.

McCree’s dick feels strange only because of how odd it is to feel soft, fine fur laid on top of the hardness of his skin, but otherwise it functions just as a human’s would. Hanzo smears precum along the length and brings a low growl from the devil.

The air is unmoving and timeless. They are both too focused and riled up to care much about speaking. When McCree’s claws suddenly snap to Hanzo’s back and begin scratching down the length of it, Hanzo guesses he’s close; they both are, both so heated just from anticipation that this was never going to take long.

He revels in the idea of having marks along his body to remember this by, and moans low against McCree’s throat to encourage him to continue as he rocks his hips. The devil obliges, clawing Hanzo’s body from hips to shoulders, panting hard and tipping his head back with a thud as his horns thump against the clothing.

An angle change has McCree barking a shout, arching hard and spreading his thighs even further. “Fuck,” he finally snarls, bucking his hips up into Hanzo’s with fervor. “Fuck, I’m close, _there.”_

Hanzo happily acquiesces, feeling heat twist tighter and tighter in his gut as he works closer to the edge. In the last moment before he finally breaks, he leans up and sinks his teeth into the silk-soft skin of McCree’s ear, before dipping his tongue to trace along the edge.

With a guttural moan, McCree jerks, once, twice, and then comes over his stomach in ropes. He’s a growler, it seems, not shouting but writhing his way through it, and the way his body tightens around Hanzo has him following in an instant.

The come down is slow and pleasant. Hanzo doesn’t pull out, thighs shaking as he wrings the last of himself out in small, short little hip thrusts. The devil pants underneath him in soft noises but doesn’t move, doesn’t push Hanzo away for a long moment.

It’s McCree that eventually moves first, stretching out his legs and arms in a long, languid movement. Hanzo greedily keeps his cock inside for a few moments more before reluctantly pulling out; they both make a noise that suggests neither of them wanted that.

It’s almost funny. Hanzo sinks back onto his haunches with a groan—now that the lust has burned out of him, he can feel the aches and bruises and scratches the devil has left him with. He exhales slowly, eyes on the devil, and watches his companion sit up with a pleased, dazed expression on his face.

“Consider yourself _thoroughly_ forgiven,” McCree says after a minute, and Hanzo snorts.

“Of course,” he says. “After that performance? I believe you owe _me_ now.” The words are a tease, but also a suggestion. A proposal.

Hanzo tries not to be too obvious about it, but McCree’s bi-colored eyes are on him, careful, thoughtful. “Maybe so,” he agrees, low and suggestive in response. Hanzo feels a low thrum of heat and relief curl in his blood, but he just nods, slowly pulling himself to his feet.

McCree watches him, lazy and unapologetic, eyes on his cock and his face in equal parts. “Thanks for the fun, dragon,” he hums, and climbs to his hooves. His tail slides around as he begins to walk past, trailing once between Hanzo’s legs and sending a shiver down his spine. “If you ever feel like gettin’ lost again…you know where to find me.”

Hanzo blinks, turning to look after him, but suddenly he is standing, fully clothed, in front of his parked car.

He sways on his feet, startled, and reaches into his pocket to find his car keys. Faintly, amusement and confusion both tickle at the back of his mind.

A small doubt. _Did I hallucinate that, as well? Am I mad?_

Hanzo climbs into his car, and sits back against the seat as he starts it.

And he smiles.

The sting of claw marks up his spine tells him that he will, indeed, be getting lost again.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at my [twitter](https://twitter.com/leomundstinyhut) and [tumblr!](https://poes.tumblr.com)


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